


Assistance

by AmandaRex



Series: Practice/Assistance [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Fluff, Minor AU, POV Jemma Simmons, Romance, Sci-Ops Era (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), Some Humor, trope - inexperienced Fitz, trope - oblivious scientists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5588365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaRex/pseuds/AmandaRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>as·sis·tance (noun): the action of helping someone with a job or task. help; aid; support.</p><p>While at the Academy, Simmons discovered that being a prodigy had been harder on Fitz's social life than it has been on hers, which strikes her as terribly unfair. She hoped that once they get out into the real world and begin working for Sci-Ops, the problem would work itself out, but it turned out it wasn't that easy. Simmons decides to help him tackle it the way they would anything else: together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Simmons POV version of my [Fitz POV story, "Practice"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5425652/). There's lots of new content here, though, I promise!

"Come on, Jemma, put the book down and scoot back here," Paul cajoled, patting the bed in front of him. "You'll pass these exams on a walk. Let's turn out the lights and have some quality time." 

Jemma put her finger on the passage she was currently reading, not wanting to lose her place, and looked up at her perhaps-serious-enough-to-call-boyfriend, frowning at him a bit. Was he talking about passing exams as though there was adequate satisfaction in meeting the minimum standard for not failing the course? How had Paul met the admissions requirement for S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy with an attitude like that? 

Perhaps he had overestimated her natural test-taking ability, she reasoned, and didn't realize how much work must be put in to achieve the top marks she considered necessary, but she found his attitude confusing regardless. She felt she had been rather clear about the way she'd intended to spend that evening.

"I do have to study quite a lot, especially with the extra courses I've taken on to graduate at the end of the semester," she said, firmly, looking back at her book and feeling his eyes still on her. 

She struggled with the idea of saying anything else. She felt Paul was expecting some sort of apology, or at least an offer to compromise and perhaps end this study session earlier than she had intended, but she couldn't do either of those things. Apologizing felt dishonest, as she wasn't sorry at all to take her courses as seriously as she did. Furthermore, she didn't intend to sacrifice anything of what was necessary to make the most of the opportunities the Academy offered, no matter who was asking her and why.

"We need to eat, at least," Paul said, and he had definitely crossed from gentle coaxing to abject whining. She regarded him, marveling at how quickly someone could go from being more than attractive, conventionally speaking, to utterly unappealing. This demanding attitude wasn't acceptable to her at all, and she realized she would probably have to end this little romantic entanglement sooner rather than later.

"I have sandwiches in my bag," she said, gesturing to her satchel on the floor next to his bed. "I did mention my plans for the evening were to be exclusively devoted to coursework, didn't I?"

"I can make you forget all that, baby," he purred. "You know that spot behind your ear? Wouldn't my lips feel good there right now? Come on, Jemma, ditch the books for once."

She forced a smile at him, wondering if there was some way she could gracefully defer ending the relationship until after exams. She wasn't sure she could properly concentrate were she to be pulled into the long, inevitable talks that came at the end of these romantic entanglements. 

She sighed, deciding to put Paul into a holding pattern of sorts, hoping it would allow her to properly focus on attaining the marks she considered vital to be taken seriously in the Sci-Ops lab assignment she and Fitz had already been offered to begin their post-Academy S.H.I.E.L.D. careers.

"Let me make a suggestion," she offered. "I'll go to my quarters to continue with this, and you can take your time having dinner in the mess. We can meet up afterward, when I've had a chance to make a little more progress on this."

He looked a little uncertain, but she could see him cracking. He did inexplicably love the food in the mess, the one thing he and Fitz had been able to talk about without the conversation becoming extremely uncomfortable.

"We'll meet up after?" he whined, his attractiveness level hovering somewhere near homely as a result.

"At the library," she said, smoothly, unable to picture curling up with him on his bed in his room, not after he'd spent the evening painting himself in such a disagreeable light. "I'll book one of the private study rooms," she offered as a consolation, knowing he'd balk at the idea of sitting in the main room with dozens of other cadets around.

"Meet you at eight?" he asked.

Jemma checked her watch, frowning when she saw how late it was already. "Better aim for nine," she said. "I'll need to finish a few things first on my own." She hopped up and logged into her account from the terminal in Paul's room, reserving her favorite private study room in the library, blocking out a three hour chunk from nine until midnight. "There. It's all sorted. See you at nine," she told him, stuffing her book into her satchel and swinging it over her shoulder before he could argue.

"Goodbye kiss?" Paul said, holding out his arm to pull her in. He remained with his back against his pillows, meaning Jemma would have to practically crawl on top of him to reach his lips, even just for a peck. The look in his eyes told her this was absolutely intentional on his part, and she reconsidered how much of an inconvenience finishing with him before exams would really be.

She short-circuited his plan and brushed his outstretched knuckles with her lips quickly, pulling back before his hand could open and his grasping fingers could gain purchase anywhere on her. With a very quick wave over her shoulder, she left his room, moving briskly down his hallway and out the front doors.

Once in the crisp air of the late afternoon, she slowed a bit, enjoying the chill as it bit at her cheeks. She loved to admire the grounds, especially as the trees had begun to green again and a few flowers were poking cautiously through the ground. Getting a few moments to herself was a rare pleasure, allowing her to reflect thoughtfully on the massive changes that awaited her in the coming months.

Her schooling, for so long the overwhelming focus of her life, was about to come to an end. Two Doctorates earned concurrently had felt like quite the challenge, but that had been nothing compared to her whirlwind path through the crucible of S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy. She'd been determined to graduate as quickly as possible without missing anything, aiming somewhat egotistically to set a record mark as the youngest person to fulfill the requirements necessary to ascend to full agent status.

She would get her wish, as it turned out, but she would have to settle for sharing the honor with another cadet. She smiled, picturing her best friend in her mind: the always moving, always thinking, always challenging Leopold Fitz. It was fitting, poetic almost, given everything else they'd accomplished as a pair once they had set aside their silly rivalry and become friends.

In thinking about Fitz, she noticed she was on the path to his dormitory instead of her own. She'd walked this way so many times recently that habit must have led her to it, but now that she'd noticed, she could see the advantage in seeing if he was in his room. With the amount of time she had already lost to the Paul distraction and the additional time she knew the library excursion could cost her later, getting some quality time with her books and Fitz to challenge her would go a long way toward making up the lost ground.

She patted the satchel and hugged it to her chest, knowing the sandwiches she carried inside would be her ace in the hole if Fitz wasn't inclined to spend the next few hours with theoretical physics concepts. He couldn't seem to resist any of the slightly more exotic concoctions she experimented with, and she had tried something with pesto in this latest attempt that she suddenly realized she'd mixed up with his palate in mind instead of Paul's. Perhaps the evening was turning out exactly as it should, and fate was guiding her down a much more productive path.

* * *

When she knocked for the second time on the door to his quarters, Fitz stuck his head—and only his head—out to greet her. She'd been about to turn and leave when he'd suddenly appeared, but her offer of studying and sandwiches had frozen in her mouth at the odd look on her lab partner's face.

"Simmons! I didn't...I mean, I wasn't...were we supposed to meet up now?" He looked flustered, his cheeks flushed and his curls even more wild than they normally were.

Jemma backed away a few steps, wondering if he had a girl in his room. The pieces fit, after all. The reticence to open the door and let her see inside, his disheveled appearance, and his seeming inability to string his thoughts together into a coherent sentence. He hadn't shown much interest in dating, though, at least not to her, and they spent enough time together that she found it unlikely he could be involved with someone she didn't know about. 

Perhaps he'd intentionally kept her separate from the girls he was romantically interested in, however. Goodness knows it would be smart to do so, as each one of her own boyfriends eventually developed ridiculous streaks of jealousy at her close friendship with Fitz. Even the overconfident Paul was starting to make fun of Fitz to her in their private moments, as though he was testing whose side she would take if he issued an ultimatum.

"I'm so sorry, Fitz," she whispered, hoping anyone who might be inside his room wouldn't be able to make out her voice. "I should have called. I found myself at loose ends and wondered if you'd like to prepare for the physics exam, but coming by unannounced was completely—"

"No," Fitz interrupted, running his hands nervously through his hair. Now that he'd drawn attention to them, she saw smears of black on his fingers, and a matching one decorating his cheek. "I just...well...shite. You may as well come in, I could use some help trying to sort this out if you have a moment."

Jemma barely had time to nod before he opened the door a bit more, just enough to latch his hand onto her arm and yank her inside. Every light in his room was on, including the lamps he'd borrowed from other cadets, and she blinked against the unforgiving brightness. He regularly complained that working on his delicate electronics projects required all the light he could lay his hands on, but this seemed extreme even for him. Instead of merely providing illumination to make working with his tiny components and tools possible, however, they currently underscored the utter devastation that used to be Fitz's bed.

"Fitz! What did you—"

"Shouldn't have happened," he said, anger and frustration lacing his words. "I was making my final adjustments and it was too dark on the desk, so I went over there," he said, indicating the pile of wet ashes that used to be his bedspread, "to make the final connections."

"You had your soldering iron on your—"

"Shouldn't have been an issue!" Fitz yelled, his brogue coming out in full force as it always did when he was under stress. "My hands, they're steady as a rock, you know that. At least, they are until that wanker Wes turns his bloody radio on full blast!" Fitz was speaking very loudly toward the wall now, apparently trying to make his annoyance known to the cadet in the room next to his.

Jemma shushed him, not wanting to spend the next hour negotiating an uneasy truce between Fitz and Wes.

"There was a fire," she stated, perhaps unnecessarily, and he nodded, giving her a don't-be-simple look. "You've put it out, though, so well done there," she continued, taking a few steps forward and picking at the charred fabric on top of his mattress. "Oh, you must have moved quite quickly! The damage is limited to the bedclothes, nothing at all to the mattress. Requisition a replacement set, Fitz. Shouldn't be a problem."

"Shouldn't be," he agreed, though he still looked troubled. "If something very similar to this hadn't happened last month, and if I hadn't promised Facilities that it would never happen again lest they hit me with a hefty fine…" he trailed off, looking quite angry, though she could tell it was all pointed inward now. "I'm sure I can't pay it, and I can't ask my mum, Simmons. I just can't."

Jemma pursed her lips, looking around the room to make sure she'd assessed the full extent of the damage. It really wasn't as bad as it looked. If they could get rid of the bedding somehow, she could give him the spare set she kept in the closet in her quarters and no one would be the wiser.

"Do you have a bag? Anything this mess will fit into?" she asked, starting to gather the wet, charred sheets into a ball.

He gaped at her for a moment, then he seemed to kick into gear when he realized she must have some sort of plan. "Yeah, I think I've got an old duffel back here," he said, disappearing into his closet. He threw several items of clothing behind him, clearing space until he triumphantly held up a canvas bag.

"You have a fan, I believe?" she asked, looking around to see if she could find it herself.

He pressed the duffel into her hands and twisted around, pulling a battered, white fan out from underneath his desk.

"Crack your window open, Fitz. Just a tiny bit. Put the fan over here," she said, indicating the table at the far end of his bed. "Turn it on, and point it toward the window. That should clear out the smell before anyone else notices."

"You're brilliant, have I told you that?" he said, grinning at her.

"Not often enough," she returned, setting herself to the task of stuffing his ruined bedcovers into the bag.

* * *

"Can't thank you enough for helping me earlier," Fitz said, taking the last bite of the sandwich Simmons had offered him. He glanced at his watch. "It's been nearly four hours since we left my quarters. Do you think it's dry and aired out yet?"

"Are you getting tired? You could stay here if you think your bed won't be fit to sleep in tonight," she offered. Her bed was rather small, of course, but she was determined to keep him from getting in trouble with Facilities and ending up with a fine he couldn't pay. If that meant he had to spend a night hiding out in her room, then they'd manage somehow.

"We barely fit on this thing like this," he said, indicating their positions across from each other on her bed. "I feel like my legs are shoving you against the wall, are you all right?"

"It's fine," she said, reassuring him. "If we sit facing each other this way, at least I know you aren't going to try to look over my shoulder to cheat," she teased.

"That was one time, Simmons. Once."

"That I know of," she said, her voice high, a tone of joking accusation.

Fitz stared at her for a moment, very quiet, and she considered whether she'd actually hurt his feelings with her attempt at a joke. She was about to apologize when he began to speak, his voice very quiet.

"I really do appreciate you helping me, Simmons. I thought I was done for. Don't know what I would have done, really."

"You would have thought of something," she said, uncomfortable with such a sincere expression of his gratitude. "Besides, I know what you're up to, Fitz. You've finished your sandwich and are now just trying to distract me, but you promised me uninterrupted quizzing in return for my help. I intend to get my due."

"All right then," he said, with exaggerated acquiescence, looking down at the book in his lap. "Ah, here's a good one," he cried, as his expression switched quickly from comical reticence to utter glee. "A photon collides with a stationary electron. If the photon scatters—"

She groaned the moment she recognized the parameters of the question. He was asking her about Compton scattering, a simple enough calculation when one had access to a pencil and paper, but she was armed with nothing but her wits and the pillow behind her head.

"Fitz! I haven't got anything to write with! You want me to work out the equation in my head?" Surely he would allow her to get up and fetch her notebook, or accept a description of the calculations she would make if she had the proper tools at hand as a correct answer.

"I suppose you don't have to," he said, making his disapproval obvious, bordering on theatrical. 

She realized he truly did expect her to juggle the calculations entirely in her mind, and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of debating if the question was fair or not.

"Oh, all right," she told him, closing her eyes and trying to picture the maths, step by step. "Finish the question," she said, willing her concentration to a razor-fine point, "but you can't try to talk while I'm thinking the answer through this time."

He resumed his question. "If the photon scatters at angle—"

Jemma's eyes flew open at the sudden intrusion of a loud banging noise coming from her door, interrupting Fitz mid-sentence. She'd call it a knock if it didn't sound more like someone trying to break the door down, though perhaps the noise had felt more jarring because she'd been concentrating so intently.

"Come in, it's open," she called, after looking down and realizing it would take an age get past Fitz's legs as they stretched toward her on the outer edge of the bed.

Paul appeared as the door opened and she stared blankly at him, still trying to shift her thoughts from the question Fitz had been asking her to give their new arrival some of her attention.

"Jemma, we were supposed to meet at the library tonight. Did you forget?" Paul asked, though he was looking at Fitz instead of her.

She covered her mouth with her hand, the details flooding back to her. They'd just made the arrangements a few hours ago and she couldn't believe she'd forgotten. No matter how trying Paul had been earlier, it was no excuse for leaving him waiting for her when she'd promised she would be there.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she apologized. "We were working so well here doing exam prep and I must have lost track of the time."

Paul looked enraged, an expression of his she hadn't seen before. Paul was rather casual usually, self-assured in a way that seemed to make it easy for him to forgive her odd forgetfulness of dates and times she'd agreed to meet him but forgot to show up.

"Lost track of the...Jemma, we were supposed to meet at nine. I just got thrown out of the library when it closed at midnight. You lost track of time for three hours? Or you forgot about me entirely?"

Clearly she needed to stand up and have this out with him face to face and she began trying to get up. Fitz seemed to wake up when she tried to swing her legs over his and he bent his knees, trying to get himself out of her way. Their efforts, uncoordinated and badly timed, seemed to tangle them further instead of freeing her. 

"Yeah, it figures he's here," Paul said, sneering and pointing at Fitz. Something about the contemptuous look on his face ignited Jemma's frustration with Paul from earlier in the day as well, becoming the provocation she needed to begin cataloguing all his undesirable qualities. His lack of respect for her dedication was a big one, but this unhappiness at her friendship with Fitz was simply unacceptable. "You know, don't bother getting up, Jemma. There's not much to discuss, is there, with the two of you holed up in here so cozy with each other?"

She sighed. It always came to this. No man she'd ever dated since she'd met Fitz had possessed the confidence in their relationship to believe she wasn't cheating on them. Really, none of these failed liaisons was much of a loss, she consoled herself, as she couldn't see any of them lasting past her graduation from the Academy. If she finished this now she'd have one fewer distraction leading up to her final months, and that certainly seemed it would be for the best, given Paul's increasingly poor attitude.

"Yes, I agree," she said, trying to muster as much dignity as she could while her legs were still hopelessly entangled with Fitz's. "If you can't be bothered to trust me and won't even consider forgiving me for making the terrible error of focusing on academic concerns when we are in the middle of the most important exams of our lives, then there certainly is nothing left to discuss."

Paul left without so much as another word to her, and if she was honest, being dismissed so harshly was somewhat hurtful. She knew she'd planned to break up with him herself, but something about having it happen like this, and with Fitz as an audience, made her throat feel tight and her eyes begin to get dangerously watery.

She caught motion out of the corner of her eye as she determinedly blinked to keep the tears from falling, and a hand lightly fell over hers. She'd subjected Fitz to an embarrassing, humiliating scene, and here he was, trying to comfort her.

"He was a prat," she told him, unable to meet his gaze. "It's fine."

He kept his hand on hers and sat forward, using the other to deftly untangle their legs and allow her to sit up, giving her back a small feeling of control and letting her push the tears away for good. She looked at him gratefully, wondering what she could possibly have done to deserve him.

"You're much more sensible than I am, Fitz. You don't get involved in things like this. They inevitably turn out so messy and unpleasant."

"Yeah, you're right," he said, laughing mirthlessly. "That's why I don't date."

She tilted her head and studied him, wondering how they had never talked about this before. It seemed like such a huge thing, especially as everyone around them seemed to be pairing up, constantly trading partners and pursuing each other.

"Come on, Simmons," he continued. "You must know why."

Her heart beat faster for a moment and she looked down at her hand covered possessively with his. She considered for a moment if Fitz had ever felt anything for her, uncertain how she'd feel about it if he did. She'd had thoughts about him from time to time, but each time they worked their way into her mind, she'd dismissed them without reflection. She couldn't imagine having the sorts of tedious arguments and misunderstandings with Fitz that seemed part and parcel of a romantic relationship. Her friendship with him was the first relationship she'd truly valued outside her family, and risking it to hormones or impulse was unthinkable. 

She pulled her hand back, suddenly terrified they were about to venture into territory they had both seemed content to avoid with each other before this moment.

"Every single woman here is older than me," he said, "most of them by five years or more." 

As she took in his meaning, she let out a long, relieved breath that she hoped he wouldn't notice. 

"The age difference isn't an issue for you," he continued. "Men seem to like it, if anything, but it doesn't exactly have women banging down my door."

She was affronted on his behalf as she considered how absurdly limiting these ridiculous gender stereotypes were. Any woman at the Academy would be lucky beyond imagining to have an association with Leopold Fitz, let alone a romantic relationship. Yes, he could be forgetful at times, and certainly single-minded, but if they got even one night of his sharp, insightful mind focused on them and them alone, she was sure something as insignificant as an age difference would be the furthest thing from their minds.

"I'd never thought of it that way," she breathed. "I'd just assumed you were focused on coursework."

"I've had plenty of time to devote to it." He was trying to make a joke of it, but she could see this was a deep, old wound he'd had to tend for many years. He'd been accelerated ahead of his peers since he'd been very young, robbing him of any opportunities to have the sorts of relationships Jemma had thought nothing of dabbling with at the slightest whim. It was terribly unfair, and she felt awful that he seemed keenly aware of what he'd given up to be a prodigy.

"Fitz," she began, but she stopped when she realized she had no idea what to say.

"I don't…" he said, looking quite frustrated and not meeting her eye. "It's not...It doesn't bother me."

She searched for some sort of solution, some way to right this terrible inequity between the two of them. She'd certainly had uncomfortable moments due to her lack of experience compared to her classmates, but she'd never had to shoulder a burden like his. Just as she began to consider the women she knew to find one open-minded enough to disregard the age difference, she was suddenly reminded that their world would very soon no longer be limited to the claustrophobic boundaries of the Academy.

"You know, we're finished here in a few weeks and then we're off to Sci-Ops," she said, the thoughts forming in her head as she spoke. "We've already signed a lease on the flat and we'll be in the real world, outside of school, for the first time in either of our lives." Fitz looked at her, his face brightening just a bit as he considered what she was saying. "We'll meet so many new people, Fitz. There's a very lucky woman out there somewhere who isn't half a decade older than you, I know it." 

"I suppose you're right," he said, and she could see the wheels beginning to turn in his mind. 

She was suddenly feeling quite inspired to return to their studies, knowing they needed to ace these exams and leave the Academy on such a high note that their reputation would precede them at Sci-Ops. The more notoriety they could garner, the higher Fitz's stock would be when they took up their new positions as fully-fledged S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. She looked at him, knowing he deserved the world, and she was determined to help him get whatever he might want.

"Now, we won't be able to report to Sci-Ops at all if we fail our exams, so let's get back to quizzing each other. You were asking me about Compton scattering?"

She saw the smirk return to his face as she reminded him of the maths-in-her-head torture he'd had planned for her earlier, and they both settled back at their respective ends of the bed.


	2. The Plan

_(six months later)_

Jemma watched as Fitz methodically emptied his shopping basket onto the conveyor belt, then relieved her of hers and did the same. The visual differences between his pre-packaged convenience food and her load of fresh fruits and vegetables as they trundled toward the cashier made her smile. It was a microcosm of the two of them, different approaches to the same problem, but each would complement the other quite well. Just as she would cajole him into eating the more healthy fare she made sure to stock, he would tempt her with the occasional indulgence she'd never have chosen for herself. Somewhere in the middle of their disparate choices they'd found a perfect balance.

She took out her wallet, leafing through the bills inside to pull out a few in the middle. She'd kept a running total in her mind as they'd shopped, and a quick calculation to account for the tax brought her to a quick approximation of the total. Holding her half of the grocery money, she turned her attention to Fitz as he talked amiably with the cashier and bagger.

The woman running their supplies over the scanner paused occasionally to comment to Fitz about one item or another, running her hand through her hair sometimes as he answered. The questions and comments she made were the sort of inane chit chat that Jemma regularly tuned out, but there was something about this that caught her attention. Really, the woman couldn't be more obvious about her intentions if she was a brown-winged stink bug and she'd begun to emit their signature, pre-copulation vibratory mating signal.

Fitz, for his part, was blissfully unaware, answering her questions earnestly and without seeming to pick up on the occasional double-entrendre the cashier threw in to make her intentions to flirt with him more clear. Each verbal exchange between the two of them appeared to make Fitz slightly more irritable, actually, and Jemma could see the young man bagging their groceries was failing spectacularly at his attempt to hide his amused look at the interplay before him.

Jemma was miffed on Fitz's behalf, seeing him used as an object of amusement by one of these people and as a slab of hope-he's-available meat for the other. She and Fitz were obviously together, after all, buying food it was surely plain they meant to share. Just because Jemma knew there was no romantic entanglement between the two of them didn't mean the cashier should know this, making this flirting display seem rather brazen.

At this thought, Jemma fought an irrational desire to make some sort of possessive gesture toward Fitz, take his arm or run her hand along the line of his shoulders. He didn't seem interested in the woman, after all, and perhaps he would consider it a favor once she explained to him the reason behind the gesture later.

Their total was announced before Jemma could decide if she should follow through, the problem disappearing as she and Fitz were distracted by the business of paying and figuring out how to divide up the load for their walk back to the flat. 

Fitz lead the way, threading them through the crowd of people around the market on a busy Friday night. She was able to study him, unobserved, as she followed, easily seeing what would drive their cashier to take a chance and flirt with him.

Fitz wasn't over-muscled, and though Jemma could see the possible appeal of a more developed build, she secretly preferred a more compact body type. Once upon a time, she might have found it less intimidating, but now that she had spent years next to Fitz, watching the litheness of his long, elegant fingers, she had to admit that men like Fitz were sexy in their own way.

What she couldn't understand was how oblivious Fitz was when faced with a woman who was attracted to him, especially as he was so insightful about so many other things. Jemma secretly thought he'd probably missed many a woman's attempt to throw herself at him, even during his school years, when he'd assumed his age difference would preclude any romantic relationships.

Jemma thought back to earlier that afternoon, when she'd dropped by his lab to propose another joint project, only to find him bent over one of the female lab assistants, his gaze trained on one of her eyes as she clutched at his shoulders.

"Hold still," he said, his voice strained with concentration. "I still can't see it."

"I'm certain there's an eyelash in there," the woman moaned. Simmons tried to think of her name, but she was unable to pluck it from her memory. The badge pinned to her lab coat proclaimed her 'Anna' once Jemma got close enough to read it, and Jemma suddenly realized that Fitz had brought up this particular co-worker of his in several of their evening chats about their separate working days. 

There wasn't much question if there was interest on Anna's part, not with the way she was using this (possibly imagined) eyelash to bring herself into close physical proximity with Fitz. Jemma was surprised Anna hadn't just grabbed him and kissed him already, though the way she was tilting her chin told Jemma the other woman was certainly considering it.

"Biologist here," Jemma joked, "perhaps I could take a look at it?"

"Yeah, thank you," Fitz said, disengaging from a suddenly disappointed-looking Anna and turning towards Jemma. "I'm rubbish at finding it, apparently. Perhaps you'll have better luck."

Anna blinked, theatrically wiping the tears from her eye and putting on a triumphant look. "No, it's fine," she announced. "I think it's gone now. You're a miracle worker, Dr. Fitz."

"Ah, I'm sure it's nothing I did, but I'm glad it's out," he said, barely looking away from Jemma as he spoke. "What have you got?" he asked, seeming to forget about Anna's presence entirely. "We're between projects here and I'm about to go spare with nothing to work on."

Jemma tried to ignore the ten thousand watt glare Anna focused on her, pulling out a tablet with the project proposal she'd just finished back in her own lab. Fitz took it from her and began to read it, grinning when he realized the implications of the research she'd outlined.

"Jemma?" came Fitz's voice, but it wasn't from Jemma's memories of that afternoon. Instead, she found herself a half dozen paces past the front entrance of their apartment building, Fitz up the stairs with his keys in his hand and looking at her with amusement. "In your own little world there, I suppose?" he teased.

"I was considering some things," she said, defensively.

"That research proposal, do you mean?" Fitz asked, seemingly eager to pick up where their conversation at work had left off.

"Not really," she admitted. "About you and Anna, actually."

Fitz turned away quickly, holding the door open for her with his hip, and then continuing up the stairs before she could elaborate. She was certain Fitz felt unprepared for the world of dating and romance due to his lack of experience, but it would break her heart to watch him deny himself something he'd seemed to long for so much simply because he was afraid.

She soldiered on, not allowing him to change the subject by rushing away from her. "She was flirting with you, Fitz. Couldn't you tell?" She had to raise her voice to make sure he heard her, but it had the added benefit of making clear that she would not be going easy on him this time. He was going to talk this out with her so she could help him lay these restrictive fears of his to rest.

"If I asked out every girl you insisted was flirting with me," he said, between the deep breaths he always took as they scaled the many staircases leading to their third floor walkup, "I'd never have a free evening again." He sounded quite annoyed, which she would have taken a bit personally if she hadn't known it was more due to his embarrassment at the subject matter than any actual exasperation with her. 

"It certainly isn't my fault the new assistant in your lab keeps hinting to you about that new restaurant she's heard is good."

"Anna's making conversation, Simmons. That's a casual comment you can make to anyone you assume has...you know…" he said, a measure of sarcasm creeping into his tone, "the need to ingest food from time to time."

"No, that's the kind of casual comment you make to someone you'd like to visit that restaurant _with_." She paused, incredulous that he didn't know Anna was regularly flirting with him, especially after that business earlier with the mythical eyelash that had caused her so much distress. "Occasionally, Fitz, two people who may be interested in one another go to a place and ingest food together."

"It sounds so romantic when you put it that way," Fitz complained, which Simmons thought was unfair. He'd been the one to use the utilitarian 'ingest' to describe the action, after all, not her. "I can't ask her out anyway, Simmons. I'm senior to her in the lab. It wouldn't be ethical."

"You're not her supervisor, Fitz, not technically," she pointed out, as Fitz reached the landing outside their apartment door. "She reports to Dr. Badhuri and you and I report directly to Dr. Tsang. You're co-workers," she stated, triumphantly. "There's nothing unethical about it."

Fitz struggled with the door, plainly working his way toward complete annoyance as his normally-nimble fingers continued to labor over the simple task of inserting the key into the lock. When he finally got it open he allowed her to go in first, even though he was about to drop two of the bags he was carrying, a gesture that reassured her that he couldn't really be too upset with her.

"Going to the market would be a lot more convenient if you didn't insist on all these things that take up so much space in the bags. Neither of us has a hand free when we get home," he mumbled.

" _All those things_ meaning the fresh fruit and vegetables, I suppose?" she asked, taking umbrage at being blamed for the overstuffed nature of the bags they were carrying. If anything, the bulky cardboard boxes of his nutrient-free convenience food were much more problematic. "You'd be in constant vitamin deficiency if I didn't do half the shopping and cooking," she told him, feeling the need to defend her grocery choices.

"I'd also avoid the dislocated shoulder I'm likely to have after one more trip to the store with you," he groused, but she took note of the way he was avoiding her eyes. He was clearly uncomfortable, which made her feel torn. He never responded well when she attempted to press him about his personal life, but she couldn't stand by and watch him miss out anymore, either.

She took a deep breath, deciding this was the day she wouldn't back down. "You aren't just avoiding that, you're avoiding my question about Anna, aren't you?" 

"I'm not," he said, but even he seemed to realize how unconvincing he sounded. "Yeah, okay. I am, a bit."

"Are you...nervous to talk to her?" she began, deciding she needed to understand the exact nature of his reluctance to really help him.

"Anna and I talk all the time," he protested.

"Yes, about things like materials inventory, Fitz," she pointed out, exasperated that he would pretend not to understand her. 'Have you asked her anything personal? Favorite food, favorite color, favorite music? Have you complimented her? She was wearing a lovely outfit today, wasn't she? Do you even know what color her eyes are?"

"I don't often notice things like that," he told her, a statement she didn't find difficult to believe. While he was very insightful and creative in his work, those skills didn't seem to carry naturally to the rest of his life.

She closed her eyes, wondering if he could remember what color they were. She was sure he wouldn't, even after the years they'd spent working so closely. "What color are my eyes, then?"

"Mahogany," she heard him say, almost the moment the last word of her question left her lips.

Her eyes flew open and fixed on him. "Do you really think so?"

"First thing that came to my head," he said, nosing into a cabinet as he put a few boxes and cans away.

"I've always thought of them as just a regular muddy brown," she said, almost to herself, wondering at how he could know so much about her and yet miss so much in his interactions with other people.

"I suppose when you spend as much time together as we have, you notice more of the details," he said, which she supposed was a reasonable enough explanation. They had spent quite a lot of time staring at each other over one lab table or another. The information must have lodged itself in his mind, an unwanted and unnecessary bit of trivia.

"See there, Fitz? You do notice these things, you just have to move the timetable up a bit. Try to find something unique about Anna tomorrow and compliment her on it," she suggested.

"Ah...I don't know. I'm rubbish at this sort of thing." He seemed quite opposed to the idea, frozen in place behind the three bags he'd been emptying. "I'm likely to pick out something she doesn't like about herself, or say something bizarre like 'mahogany'."

"That wasn't bizarre, Fitz," she said, the words rushing out before she could work out why it was so important to her that he didn't downplay the inadvertent compliment he'd given her. "That was rather lovely."

"Well, I can talk to you, can't I?" he pointed out. "Took me forever to do it back at the Academy though, if you remember. At this rate, I'll be able to tell Anna she's wearing a nice scarf in about five years, probably after she's married and has two children."

She tried not to laugh, knowing Fitz wouldn't consider anything about this conversation funny. "Negative thinking like that won't get you anywhere, Fitz. You just need to try it," she encouraged, trying to come up with an idea to ease him into being more comfortable with this entire issue. "Perhaps we can go out somewhere and you can try it on people we'll never see again. The stakes would be lower. Think of it as practice!"

"No, there's no way I could do that," he said, shaking his head. "Walk up to women I don't know in some loud, crowded bar, shout over the music to them about what color their bloody eyes are. It's ridiculous, I'd feel like an idiot."

She was forced to agree, once she considered it a moment longer. She simply could not picture him picking up someone in a bar, or even pretending to do so. They needed to start with something smaller, something inside his comfort zone. "All right then. You can talk to me, can't you? Practice on me."

"Abso-bloody-lutely not," he huffed, and her heart sank that he was so hesitant to try even the most theoretical flirting, even with her.

"You have to be willing to take a few risks," she said, hoping to get through to him. "Men are still largely burdened with the role of initiator, unfortunately. If you want to start meeting people and dating, you'll have to accept that you may feel a little uncomfortable from time to time with the whole process. Everyone finds it awkward, Fitz, I promise."

"I'll try to remember that," he said, turning away from her. 

She was surprised, actually, at how hurt she was that he couldn't trust her enough to have this conversation. Perhaps he was concerned his lack of experience would lead him to say something inadvertently unflattering, bruising her ego. "Who better to try a few pick-up lines on than me? I can't imagine anything you could say that would offend me, especially as I'll know you're just experimenting. It's risk free!" 

She smiled at him, keeping any hint of reservation out of her expression. He would continue to refuse if he believed it might hurt their friendship, but she could tell he was beginning to wear down. 

"All right," he conceded, turning toward her and leering in a very non-Fitz sort of way. "So, do you come here often?" he asked, a gross caricature of the numpty fools who sometimes approached her when she went out. If Fitz thought this was the path to forging a significant romantic relationship of his own, her job was a much larger one that she'd initially anticipated. 

"Oh, Fitz," she cried, exasperatedly throwing the bag she was clutching in her right hand at him as he ducked. "If you aren't going to take this seriously… Please tell me that wasn't you taking this seriously."

"That was ten percent seriously, at most," he admitted, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Sorry," he apologized, looking appropriately sheepish. "This is more than a little embarrassing, Simmons. I suppose I'm being ridiculous because I'm uncomfortable with the whole idea."

Here was something she could work with, at long last. He was finally admitting the reason behind his reservations, which was progress of a sort. Now that he had acknowledged his discomfort with the entire subject, she could begin to chip away at his hesitancy. "You can say anything to me. You know that, don't you?" 

"I do. Doesn't make it a lot easier to risk looking like a right prat in front of you, though," he pointed out.

While she was a bit disappointed to discover he worried, after all this time, about appearing foolish in front of her, his admission gave her an idea for the first step of her plan. She needed to destroy any last remnants of his self-consciousness in front of her, that she couldn't imagine anything he could do that would alter the strong feelings of friendship and affection she had for him. She thought of something simple to try right away, and they had everything she would need right in their own living room.

She scanned the grocery bags, wanting to give him a task to allow her a head start. "Put the milk away and meet me in the other room," she told him, already moving toward the living room as she talked. "The rest of the groceries can wait, this is important."

She scurried quickly to the stereo, which she ran her hand over with fondness. One of their first non-academic outings together had been a trip away from the Academy to buy this stereo for her quarters. It was almost poetic that the device would be pressed into service again to strengthen their friendship, and to hopefully add to Fitz's overall happiness as a bonus.

With a flip of a switch, music blared from the speakers, but it wasn't quite right. She needed something instrumental and upbeat, hopefully easy for them to talk over as well.

"Simmons, the neighbors are going to start banging on the wall if you don't turn that down," he groused, but he was still yelling to her from the kitchen. She wanted to draw him in, so she turned the music up louder. "Simmons!" came the answering bellow, but she stood firm. She busied herself searching through the stations, looking for the perfect accompaniment to this first stage of her plan.

"Simmons?" he ventured, and she could hear that he was only a few feet away. Feeling cautiously optimistic, she turned around and held out her hands.

"Come dance with me, Fitz," she suggested, barely suppressing her laughter as she watched the disbelief wash over his features. "I know you don't want to," she acknowledged, cutting off the denial she knew was imminent. "I know it makes you feel ridiculous, but that's precisely why you need to do it. We need to get you to a point where you aren't concerned about appearing silly in front of me, then you'll feel freer to practice flirting with me." 

She nodded curtly at him, knowing the logic of this part of the plan was sound. Fitz was nothing if not logical, so this was how she would have to win him over. She would bury him in reason until he gave in. He looked miserable, and if she didn't know exactly how much he hated the idea of dancing in front of anyone else, she might have taken his reaction quite personally. 

"If I promise I'm not afraid to look like an idiot in front of you, can I skip the dancing?" he asked.

"No, that opportunity has passed," she informed him, giving him no opportunity to bargain with her. "Come on, Fitz. There's no one else here. Just come and take my hands."

He looked at her outstretched arms as though he thought he would burst into flames if he touched her, but he nonetheless shuffled forward without another complaint and clasped her hands with his. He'd apparently resigned himself to this fate worse than death, dancing with his best friend where no one else would ever see them.

"Look, I'm utter rubbish at this," she admitted, wondering if he realized she had never learnt any of this either, she was just a little more willing to fake it than he was. "I can't dance any more than you can, and it's all just made up anyway."

Simmons shifted her weight from side to side, keeping her movements small and she made sure to be encouraging even of the tiniest things Fitz tried to do. He bounced a little and she tried to move with him, ducking her head to catch his eye. She wanted him to see he'd find nothing but acceptance if he'd just look at her, but when he chanced a quick glance at her, he looked immediately back at his feet, not moving at all.

Perhaps he would be more motivated if she admitted she might have something to learn, herself. She hadn't exactly been a social butterfly since they'd transitioned to Sci-Ops. 

"Listen, Fitz, I'm not just suggesting this for you. I haven't been on that many dates recently either, and I could probably use some practice flirting as well. We'd be doing each other a favor if we could just avoid being self-conscious about it. Just think of it like all the other projects we've worked on together. We can do this just like we do everything else when we work together, we just have to get out of our own way. Just give it a try, for me?"

He looked braver now, staring directly at her with such determination she was now momentarily tempted to look away. "All right," he affirmed, shifting his weight properly in time with her motions.

Simmons felt her heart soar at this concession of his, realizing how difficult it had been for him to make it and that he'd done it simply because she'd asked him to. He was really quite an amazing person to know, especially when she knew he'd never trusted anyone else to see him this vulnerable.

He wasn't very hard to look at, either, she reflected, her thoughts turning to a new direction. If he overcame this shyness he'd probably be overrun with women before he knew it. He was certainly unique, definitely his own man with very particular ideas about things, but that made him even more interesting, in her opinion. Even the way he dressed was laced with his own style, every item of clothing quintessentially _Fitz_ in some way.

The tie he'd worn that day, now hanging loosely around his neck, was a perfect example. It wasn't the boring black or dark blue silk tie sported by their fellow agents and labmates. Instead, Fitz favored interesting, knobbly fabrics in earth tones, their more complex texture complementing the very nature of the man who wore them.

"I really like that tie," she blurted out, barely able to stop herself from running her hand down it to feel the bumps of the fabric against her fingers. "It looks even better loosened like that...kind of sexy that way."

"It looks...what?" he asked, blinking his wide eyes at her in what looked like complete alarm.

She should, perhaps, have been more explicit about her plans for this activity. The dancing was one thing, but it was simply a means to an end, making them more comfortable with each other before practicing how to flirt. "I thought I'd go first," she explained, wondering if giving in on the dancing had been such a surrender on his part that it had short-circuited his memory. "I was flirting with you."

"Ah," he said, and she noticed he was blushing a little. "That's a bit direct, isn't it, saying it's sexy?" he added, his voice somewhat adorably catching on the word _sexy_. "Am I really supposed to go straight to something like that?"

She considered his advice, reflecting on the social mores she was subject to. They did indeed frown upon forwardness somewhat, especially from a woman, and certainly as an opening line.

"Actually, that's good feedback," she told him, feeling quite proud of his contribution so far. "I've gotten the feeling before that I say a little too much too soon. Well done, Fitz." She looked expectantly at him, wondering if he'd be able to screw up the courage to say something back to her. "All right, your turn," she prodded, curious to see his reaction.

Fitz's eyes dropped from hers and traced down her body, taking her in with his customary razor-sharp scrutiny. She would have found his appraisal quite aggressive if it had come from anyone else, but she understood that he would naturally gravitate toward gathering as much data as possible before he settled on an approach. 

When he spoke, his voice was soft, like he wasn't quite sure how to use it. "I know you've said they annoy you, but I quite like this time of day when your makeup has worn away and your freckles show again. Reminds me of all those late nights we spent in the lab or studying together." He tilted his head and she could see him studying the line of her jaw, his eyes darting from freckle to freckle as though he was trying to memorize the placement of each one.

She held her breath as her true reaction washed over her. She was overcome with fondness for him, and for their relationship. He had seen her at her best and at her worst, and what he'd just said made clear that the Jemma Simmons he preferred, above all others, was the real, unadorned one. 

She felt silly as she noticed her legs felt rather less steady than they had before and the beginnings of tears threatened at the corners of her eyes. As subtly as she could, she let go of his hands and took one step toward him for support, bracing her hands on his upper arms. As she fought to regain her composure, chastising herself for taking this so seriously, the voice of niggling doubt rose up in the back of her mind. Perhaps he hadn't really meant what he'd said, and it had merely been the first thing he thought of as he'd looked her over. 

"That's...really?" she stammered, ducking her head to catch his eye. She needed him to stop this troublingly accurate simulation he was putting on, which had almost convinced her that his open admiration for her neck and jaw was real and not just a practice session between two platonic friends. "I mean," she said, clearing her throat when her voice failed, "that's quite good, but it would hardly work on someone you don't know very well."

"I suppose you're right," he answered, and she watched his eyes flick back down to her neck. If he'd been anyone else, she would have leaned into him, willing him to map out that territory he'd just discovered with his lips, as well.

He wasn't _anyone_ , however. He was her best friend, and he had only agreed to this in the hopes it would teach him to be comfortable enough with himself to attract and woo another woman—someone who wasn't her, someone whose life wouldn't crumble into pieces if their relationship went bad and vanished into nothing.

"But still, Fitz," she added, "well done. If you truly want to get a girl's attention, making her feel special, like you've noticed something unique about her, that's an excellent approach." She tried desperately not to lean into him more, but he'd begun to look at her with an expression she'd never seen on his face before. Something about the novelty of it was so captivating that she didn't know if she was capable of resisting the urge to study it further.

Just as her mind was beginning to fuzz at the edges, reminding her of the feeling of being slightly drunk and blunting her ability to think, he pulled away. It wasn't far, just a half step, but his grip around her waist also loosened and she felt, strangely, as though he was letting her go. She couldn't put a name to the feeling that washed over her in response, but it was something like disappointment. A heart-sinking, intense, sad sense of disappointment.

She cleared her throat, hoping it would return her mind as well as her voice to usefulness. She looked at him in desperation, knowing he was waiting for her to take a turn in their flirting practice. She needed to say something, and in a bit of a panic, she decided to talk about the first thing she saw as she looked straight at him.

"Your nose is quite well formed," she heard herself saying, and winced at the utter artlessness of it. "That was a bit of a strange thing to say, I suppose," she said, looking down to cover her embarrassment. She was meant to be helping him, and she was stumbling over every word while he was proving to be a natural. "Do you see? We could both benefit from this practice."

"Is it really? My nose? Well formed?" he asked, sounding honestly curious. Leave it to Fitz to appreciate even her most awkward attempts at anything they worked on together.

"I've always thought so," she told him, the transition into explaining attractiveness as a scientist returning her to more comfortable ground. "Not too big, not too small. Symmetrical and in scale with the rest of your features. But that's probably the biologist in me noticing that, it would hardly be an especially flattering comment for most people."

"Well, I appreciate you saying it," he said, looking a bit flattered. 

"You're welcome," she told him, silently thanking him for always helping her, even when he didn't know he was.

"Your hair," he said, somewhat suddenly. She watched him roll his eyes and he looked as frustrated with himself as she'd felt a moment ago. "It's…" he began, twisting his finger into one of the slight curls at the end of one lock of her hair. "It's so soft."

"Is it?" she whispered, honestly needing to hear what he'd say next. They wouldn't normally discuss her hair or anything like it. Before this afternoon, it would have taken someone writing a journal article about it or proposing some important, peer-reviewed research about her hair in particular, neither of which seemed particularly likely.

He slid his fingers through the locks, brushing his fingertips lightly against the nape of her neck before he lifted his hand to study each strand more closely. She shivered at his touch, holding her breath as she waited for him to continue.

He nodded his head distractedly. "It looks brown at first, but if you catch it in the sun, it's almost bronze." He tilted his head, then added, as an afterthought, "Like an artist sculpted it."

She nearly pushed him away, the shock of him saying something so poetic and focused solely on her was almost more than she could process. He yanked his hands back at her gasp, looking stricken, and his dismayed reaction jolted her back to her senses enough to say something to make him feel better.

"Don't apologize," she said, quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong impression. What he'd said was amazing and would have any other woman worth his attention melting at his feet. "That was wonder—" she began, stopping short when she realized she couldn't trust whatever was about to come out of her mouth. After another deep breath, she set aside any reflections she might have had about the exact compliment he'd given her, and decided on some more distanced feedback instead. "I'm starting to think you don't really need my help, Fitz. All you need to do is trust yourself and I'm sure you'll do fine."

"I don't know, Simmons," he said, not seeming convinced in the slightest. "Do you think that's all there is to it?"

"You just need a bit of confidence," she said, suddenly remembering there was a specific girl Fitz had in mind to apply these lessons with. She pictured Anna in her mind, deciding her myriad attractions would provide someone with Fitz's imagination more than enough fertile ground to sweep her off her feet. "Then I'm sure you'll say something lovely to her. She'd be a fool not to start dating you immediately."

Fitz made a pained noise, his head falling back and his eyes squinching shut in what she could have sworn was actual, physical pain. "I'm going to have to go on a date after all that, aren't I?"

A giggle escaped her before she could stop it, and she felt terrible as his expression telegraphed his feelings of betrayal. "Of course you are, Fitz. That's sort of the point. Don't you want to?" she prodded, gently reminding him that this was what he'd professed to want for himself.

"Like…" he began, looking a bit sick. "A _date_ date?"

She laughed at his extreme reaction, immediately feeling even worse than she had a moment ago when she'd giggled before she could stop herself. She could see the ire in his expression now and she honestly couldn't blame him. What she couldn't afford to explain to him, however, was that none of it was directed at him. She'd always tended toward nervous laughter when she was flustered, and she was surprised it had taken her subconscious this long to use that particular reflex to cover her confused frame of mind.

"Yes, of course, Fitz," she told him, her tone understanding in a tacet gesture of apology. "And you should. You deserve it."

"I suppose I said that's what I wanted, isn't it?" he agreed, sounding thoughtful, but he frowned again soon afterward. He looked at her, stricken, and said, "I'm going to be terrible at this."

"You'll be—" she began, cutting herself off when she realized she shouldn't make promises to him she couldn't control the outcome of. "No, I'm not going to give you thoughtless platitudes, Fitz. A lot of dates don't really go well," she said, patting him on the shoulder as she recalled the many disastrous, boring, or uncomfortable evenings she'd spent on dates over the past few years. "But that's important to find out!" she insisted. "You aren't going to be compatible with everyone you're interested in enough to date. Better to find out as quickly as possible so you can both move on."

"It would be nice to make it through one date before everything goes pear-shaped," he said, his brogue intensifying as he got grumpier. 

She tried to think of some advice for him, anything she could tell him to increase his chances for success. Even if his first relationship only lasted a few dates, it would certainly be better for him to have at least one positive experience before he had to move on.

"Perhaps you should start with something likely to go smoothly, just to build your confidence. A restaurant might be too much pressure, require too much conversation," she pointed out, thinking of the hints Anna had been dropping on Fitz in pursuit of an elegant dinner in his company. 

Fitz nodded, clearly in agreement that an entire evening of flirting and small talk was probably too much for him at this point. 

"I know, it's perfect," she added, knowing immediately that he'd love the idea. "A movie! It's entertaining, it's a shared activity, but the pressure isn't on you to directly interact."

He looked off into the distance to a point somewhere over her shoulder, and she knew he was trying to visualize it. He did this often, his fingers and hands sometimes still moving with wild energy but Fitz himself stock-still, staring into space. To anyone else, he probably looked a bit blank, perhaps even dull, but Jemma knew the intricate ideas he was capable of conjuring in his mind's eye. It was always well worth the time to wait him out, just to see the incredible breakthroughs he could foster them toward using only his imagination.

This time, however, instead of being treated to a brilliant idea at the end of his pondering, she found herself being squeezed quite uncomfortably around the middle.

"Fitz, you're panicking, aren't you?" she asked, gently, not wanting to startle him when he was concentrating so intently.

"How did you—" he began, still looking rather dreamy and unfocused.

"You're squeezing my waist a bit," she told him, looking pointedly to his fingers as they bit painfully into her midsection.

He let her go and stepped back, making her feel almost as though he'd pushed her away. "I think I need to…" he began, mumbling under his breath as he began to move away from her, "...think about it a little longer." He disappeared back to the kitchen before she could stop him, but she followed quickly on his heels. She couldn't let him give up, not now.

"You can do this, Fitz, and I'm going to show you that you can. Look how much more comfortable you are now than before. You didn't even want to consider talking to her, and now you're thinking about the date you'd like to take her on. That's progress, and I won't let you revert back now."

"Simmons," he whined, leaning into the 'n' sound of her name with a pleading tone. "You can't force me to take someone to a movie."

"You're right, I can't," she agreed, allowing him to look relieved for a moment before she plowed forward. "But I can propose that we extend our practice a bit."

He froze, his arms awkwardly trapped inside one of the grocery bags he'd just begun to empty. "What do you mean?"

" _We'll_ go to a movie," she told him, the idea forming in her mind as she spoke. "Tonight."

"We go to movies all the time, Simmons. I don't see how—"

"We'll pretend it's a date," she offered, though some part of her was screaming for her to take it back. This felt dangerous, but she pushed the feeling away, not wanting anything to interfere with her determination to help Fitz. "You can see what the differences might be this way. I'm sure you're picturing it as much more difficult than it will actually be."

"This is mad," he said, looking down at the bag of green beans in his hands, as though he was so desperate for help arguing with her that he was willing to enlist the assistance of inanimate objects. 

"Come on, Fitz," she cajoled, and it suddenly occurred to her that he might not see the point in agreeing. As he'd said, they'd been to dozens of movies together before. Perhaps he couldn't imagine how he could treat her like a girl he'd want to date in a romantic context and the whole thing seemed like a waste of time. "I'm sure if you use your imagination you can pretend it's a date, even though it'll just be me."

"No, it's not that," he said, the denial coming quickly enough to convince her it was sincere.

"Well then, what are your reservations?" she asked. Perhaps he had taken her admission that she hadn't been on any dates lately as a lack of ability on her part, and worried that she might not be able to adequately prepare him for a night with a girl he was actually interested in. "I'll try to react the way I imagine another girl might. It'll be a good simulation," she reassured him.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" he asked, and once he'd resorted to such a nebulous, open-ended argument, she knew she'd won. He had run out of logical reasons to deny her, so this would be his final attempt to change her mind before he gave in.

"I just don't want you to miss out because you're hesitating, Fitz. I think if you were able to make the leap…" she stopped talking, watching him closely. She nearly had him, she just had to allow him, one more time, the option to back out. She was convinced that he wanted her to talk him into this, he just needed to be given the choice. "Let's just say we're going to a movie," she offered, her tone innocent and accommodating. "If you decide you're comfortable practicing some things you might do on a date, it's okay to do that. If you want to just watch the movie and try it another night, that's fine."

"No, let's do it," he said, and she tried to hide her smile. She was proud to know him so well that she could predict his behavior, an arrangement she was comfortable with only because, like everything else about them, it was fundamentally equitable. She was sure that he understood her as well as she did him.

"Really?" she asked, pretending to be surprised.

"I'm likely to make a _complete_ arse of myself, yeah?" he said, giving her a wry smile, but not looking particularly miserable.

"Better with me than someone else," she chirped, quite happy that he would allow her to help him.

"That's the spirit!" he said, but there was enough sarcasm there to make her second-guess herself. Perhaps she'd been a bit of a bully about this after all. "Sorry," he continued, apparently noting her distress as he dropped his hand over hers to show he was sincere. "Guess I'm getting started early on making an arse of myself."

"It's all right. It's probably the nerves talking. I'll change out of these work things and we can look at the listings afterward," she told him, walking toward her bedroom.

"Let me plan it," he offered, and she stopped in her tracks. She hadn't been expecting this, for him to take the lead so decisively. When they went out as friends, they did the planning together, and she hadn't thought it would occur to him to do anything differently. "I may have to, with Anna, yeah? And I know we usually split expenses, but everything's on me tonight. Before you argue with me about how outdated that is, it's the least I can do."

She was surprised at how seriously he was taking this pretend date, but she didn't want to discourage him from engaging with the idea. While she wasn't really comfortable with him paying for their evening, she thought she could probably talk him into letting her return the favor another time, bringing them back to their comfortable equilibrium.

She nodded and walked away, her mind whirring with too many possibilities. Once she found herself on the other side of the closed door to her bedroom, she found herself at a bit of a loss. How should she approach this? Anna was likely to go all out, pull out all the stops, and perhaps intimidate Fitz if he hadn't mentally prepared himself for the situation. 

With a resolute nod, she strode to her closet, pulling out a dress that was still in the plastic bag from the department store where she'd bought it on a whim. It was completely impractical, cut from a deep brown suede that the saleswoman had sworn complemented her eyes. The hassle of getting it properly laundered alone had kept it on its hanger, but she really felt she had to wear something Fitz had never seen before. He needed to experience the impact of surprise, if only to prepare him for his reaction to whatever knockout outfit Anna would wear.

Laying the dress out on her bed, she looked at her reflection in the full length mirror on the door to her bathroom. Taking in her work-weary expression and her limp, not-actually-sculpted-by-an-artist hair, she decided to refresh herself with a quick shower.

Just as she was about to step under the stream of water, Fitz knocked and shouted the movie time to her through her door. She swore under her breath as she glanced at the time, wondering if she'd be able to get her hair dry after her shower in the time she'd have left. 

As she hurriedly washed away the residue of a long day in the chem lab, she worried that she wouldn't be able to truly prepare Fitz for the experience of his first date. He saw her every day, after all, and had done for years. How could she possibly make the same impact as someone he was actually attracted to? She got to work on making herself as dolled up as she could reasonably accomplish, knowing she had to do her very best because Fitz's future happiness might be influenced by the outcome of this practice date.


	3. The "Date"

The clock was her enemy. This was nothing new, as Jemma had experienced acrimonious relationships with clocks many times before. Careful measurement of minutes and hours had ticked away for her through exams that were torn out of her hands when the time limit expired, as she anxiously awaited the growth of her lab samples for important experiments, and even her self-imposed internal timer that, in the early days of their friendship, had regulated how long she should stay away from Fitz before she could pop up in his life again without exasperating him with her constant presence.

Tonight, though, the clock was the cruelest it had ever been to her. The hair she'd styled effortlessly for years was refusing to cooperate, every gentle wave seeming inelegant and out of place. She'd ripped two pairs of stockings trying to put them on, something that hadn't happened since she was much younger and trying to teach herself how to do it in the dormitory bathroom before an important presentation to the faculty she wanted to look 'grown up' for. 

Most preposterous of all, she had wasted many precious minutes in the shower, razor in her hand, vacillating between the many decisions she could make as far as hair removal was concerned. In the end, she'd tried not to think too much about following her impulse to shave her legs all the way up, as well as touch up her underarms. There was no chance, tonight, that her date would benefit from her adherence to that particular social convention (a frankly outdated and misogynistic one, she reflected, making her feel all the sillier for having done it.) Perhaps, however, it would put her in more of a 'date' frame of mind, allowing her to make the simulation a little more real for Fitz.

After giving up on her hair and struggling into a third, thankfully unharmed pair of pantyhose, she stood in front of her mirror in her fluffy robe, unable to make a decision yet again. She held a bottle of liquid foundation in her hands, a miracle brand she'd found after much searching that could cover her freckles without feeling or looking too heavy. Anna would certainly know all the latest techniques for enhancing her features, working magic with eyeliner pencils and mascara brushes to appear devastatingly attractive to Fitz. Surely Jemma should do the same, if only to prepare Fitz as well as she could.

Her fingers brushed over the freckles along her jawline and neck, and she could almost feel his eyes on her again. She'd seen his laser-fine focus pointed at many things over the years, but she had to admit it had been quite an experience to have it directed at her, even if he had merely been pretending. If there was a germ of truth to what he'd said, however...if he truly had a soft spot for her freckles, perhaps leaving them visible would make the larger impact. This plan had the added benefit of saving her time, which was vital now that she would make them late if she didn't finish up soon. Her mind made up, she did nothing more with the contents of her makeup drawer than the barest of minimums, leaving her freckles exposed.

With one final wince as she glanced at the clock and added the time it would take them to walk to the theater, she tore off her robe and slipped carefully into her dress, contorting herself a bit to work the zipper up her back. She quickly stepped into her shoes and grabbed her handbag, then paused at her door for a moment, feeling absurd about the butterflies in her stomach.

"Sorry," she called, as soon as she'd plucked up enough courage to leave her room, the apology an acknowledgement that Fitz would be edgy about getting to the theater on time. She searched him out, finding him midway through a line he was pacing across their living room. She cringed a little, chastising herself for delaying them and starting the evening off on rocky footing.

She expected him to complain, or at least settle for an exasperated look directed at her, but he was doing neither of those things. He'd turned when she came into the light and then froze, his mouth open and his eyes blinking rapidly. It reminded her of the blank looks he'd given her the first few times she'd tried to talk to him while they were at the Academy, back when he'd still seen her only as a rival.

"Fitz?" she asked, worrying that he'd changed his mind while she'd been in her room taking forever to get ready. "Should we go?"

"Yeah, we really should," he said, nodding his head continually as he spoke. 

He still didn't move, however. He clearly had rethought this entire ludicrous scenario and concluded that he didn't want or need her help. Jemma couldn't take standing there any longer and headed for the door, wondering what she'd do if he didn't follow. Perhaps she'd just keep walking off into the sunset, coming back a few years later when Fitz had forgotten everything about this and they could hopefully resume their friendship.

Just as she was about to grab the doorknob, his hand shot out in front of hers and he grasped it instead. She took a step back, essentially trading places with him, and he opened the door. When he gestured vaguely toward it, she realized the reason he had nearly bowled her over was to open the door for her, which was really rather sweet. She ducked her head to hide her smile and the blush she was sure had begun to form on her cheeks, stepping carefully past him and into the hallway. 

Intending to avoid another awkward place-switching, she stood to the side when they reached the security door at the front of their building. He rushed past her again to let her through, stepping outside to brace the heavy metal door and allow her to pass through.

She was careful on the stairs in front of the building, her footing not as sure in the impractical-but-attractive shoes she'd chosen to wear with her dress. He looped her elbow with his when he caught up to her and she wondered if he'd noticed she was a bit unsteady or if he was trying on the romantic gesture in preparation for his real date with Anna.

"No good?" he asked her, his expression uncertain, indicating their linked arms.

"I think it's lovely," she told him, honestly, enjoying the way it made her feel connected to him, yet still separated from him enough not to feel imposed upon. Many of the men she'd dated before seemed to favor draping their arms across her shoulders, making her feel as though she was both supporting them and dwarfed by them at the same time. "But it's possible other women you choose to date may not agree with me," she allowed, remembering that her preferences were not universal. "You could also rest your hand lightly on my back, just above my waist? Not enough to feel like you're guiding me, just to keep a light connection between the two of us."

He nodded and pulled his arm away, resting his hand on her back, exactly as she'd described. She resisted the urge to close her eyes and savor the feeling, wondering why her heart would be beating so fast at such an innocent gesture. She and Fitz touched each other all the time, to get each other's attention or for support when a project wasn't going as they'd hoped. This should be nothing more than a slight extension of the status quo, but she didn't find anything familiar about the way his fingers felt, splayed against her lower back.

"What do you think?" he asked, and she blinked helplessly for a few moments, struggling to think of a response he would find appropriate.

"It's quite nice," she said, settling for an understatement she hoped he would still interpret as a compliment. "Not too demanding, but it would remind me that you're noticing me."

She'd just lied to him, she reflected to herself, but she'd really had no choice. She couldn't possibly have told him what she was really thinking, that his hand on her back was making her remember every delicate action she'd ever seen his nimble fingers perform. She'd never before considered Fitz's fine motor skills in any context outside the lab, but her imagination was certainly making up for lost time as they walked next to each other, his fingertips feeling like they were burning into her skin through her dress.

"Simmons, you look absolutely amazing tonight," he said, and she was delighted for a moment before she remembered he was almost certainly just practicing, trying that bit of flattery on for size to see how it felt to say it.

"Thank you," she told him, looking away to hide her reaction until she managed to push it away. Once she cleared her head and reminded herself they were simply best friends and this evening was just a favor she was doing for him, she remembered that it was time for her to approach this in a more businesslike manner. "You're doing very well, if you're wondering."

"I was," he said, sounding quite relieved, and something about his honest reaction helped her re-focus onto the task she'd set for herself.

They were approaching the theater and she glanced at the time, then cast a wary eye at the length of the queues at the box office. She attempted to strategize, predicting which line would move the fastest based on the people in it, and assumed Fitz was doing the same. When she stopped, about to ask him his opinion, he kept walking for several paces before he turned around.

"Here we are," she said, perhaps unnecessarily, and began to walk toward the queue that looked like their best bet. Fitz, however, curled his arm around her waist and began to move them in the opposite direction. Their opposing momentums conflicted with each other and had effect of stopping them both, putting them face-to-face, close enough that she could count his eyelashes.

"I bought the tickets ahead," he told her, and she had to blink a few times before the words made sense to her.

"Right," she answered, cringing at bit at how affected her voice was by his proximity. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her just a bit closer, and she tilted her head automatically, before she reminded herself that he couldn't possibly be about to kiss her. Of course, if she were Anna and this was a real date, he certainly could kiss her in this situation. She debated, internally, suggesting this to him, but she wasn't sure she could find the words for it.

"Wait here, I'll be right back," he said, indicating the front of the theater, near the entrance doors. She leaned into him for one last moment, not wanting him to let her go yet. After a few more blinks, she forced herself to pull away from him, walking away to wait for him.

She leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to reset herself. She and Fitz were best friends and they'd spent years issuing exasperated denials every time someone insinuated they were more than that. What had happened to her that in one evening that she had decided to risk throwing away what they had when there was no guarantee it would work?

She decided to take solace in a more mundane question, and tried to guess which movie Fitz had chosen. Looking at the posters in front of her, she realized it wasn't that compelling a mystery. There was a science fiction movie that had opened recently, based on a book she'd talked him into reading months ago. Fitz clearly would gravitate toward this, a movie they'd both enjoy watching, then mercilessly making fun of the pseudoscience in the story later.

He tapped her on the shoulder and she turned around, pointing behind her at the poster. "This should be fun. I know you read this book as well. Their mangling of theoretical four dimensional physics should be fun to discuss later, don't you think?"

She was confused when his face fell, and wondered if he disagreed with her about the implausibility of the science concepts in the movie they were about to see. Perhaps he had seen something she hadn't, and thought there might be the germ of an idea there that was more realistic than she thought?

"We aren't seeing this," he said, pointing to the poster behind her. "We're seeing that."

He indicated a different poster and she followed with her eyes, shocked when she recognized the movie they were apparently about to see. It was a romantic comedy she was secretly interested in, as these sappy, often terrible stories were a guilty pleasure of hers. She'd suspected Fitz had discovered her affection for the genre after they'd moved into their shared flat, but she would never have dreamed he would indulge her like this.

"Really?" she asked, still not quite ready to believe he'd done something so incredibly thoughtful.

"We can probably still get tickets to—"

"No!" she said, quickly cutting him off. She didn't want him to regret the choice he'd made, as this was exactly the type of decision he should probably make when he asked Anna out on a date. "We shouldn't."

"But if you'd rather—"

"I want to see the one you picked," she said, laughing when she saw how utterly confused he was at this entire exchange. "I just assumed you wouldn't want to. In fact, I'm sure you don't want to, do you?" She watched him carefully, hoping to make clear to him that he'd made a great decision, given the fact that this was meant to be practice for a real date. "You chose this because you thought it would be a better date movie?"

"Sure," he said, looking a little more confident now that she'd pointed out the excellent judgment he'd shown in his choice.

"Let's go find our seats," she said, realizing that Fitz's pre-purchase of the tickets had bought them back valuable time. "We're likely still early enough to get the ones in that row we both like." 

He looked more comfortable now, not as self-conscious about his movie choice, and motivated to get them into their favorite row. She liked the seats there because there would be no one directly in front of them, blocking her view of the bottom of the screen and making her feel short. Fitz agreed they were less distracting, as they were insulated a bit from the extremely loud speakers in American theaters.

After the ticket-taker let them in, she sized up the queues at the concession stand, just as she'd done with the ticket windows. He guided them toward the same one she would have chosen, but even though it was moving quickly, there were enough people in front of them that she felt they'd have to give up on their preferred seats.

"Tell me what you'd like and you can go on ahead," he said, his hand gently pushing at her shoulder. "It would be a shame to lose our seats because the lines are so long."

"No," she argued, not wanting to abandon Fitz to the unpleasantness of the crowd. "We should stay together, shouldn't we?"

"Ordinarily we would, but ordinarily we'd be paying separately. There's no reason for you to wait out here. Go get settled so you'll be comfortable during the movie, it's fine."

He made a good point, though she was still feeling conflicted. He nudged her again, and she knew the seats were more important to her than they were to him. If he was encouraging her to go ahead, it would be out of concern for her, and not for himself. Given that, it seemed ungrateful not to agree.

"You're sure you don't mind?" she asked, studying him closely to make sure he was sincere.

"Positive," he said, so earnestly that it was impossible to doubt him. "Popcorn and a bottle of water?" he asked, perfectly guessing the food she'd intended to order.

"Yes, Fitz. Thank you," she told him, but she couldn't quite make herself walk away from him. He deserved so much, this sweet, funny, brilliant man. Whether he believed it or not, he wouldn't need to do anything other than be himself to make just about anyone happy on a date with him. On a whim, and before she could stop herself, she pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek, pulling away after a moment to whisper into his ear. "Any date sensible enough to deserve you would do that to thank you for being so considerate."

She turned and left, too uncertain of his reaction to risk looking back at him.


	4. The Movie

There was an awkward moment when Fitz came into the theater and found her, both of them avoiding each other's eyes as he handed over her popcorn and water and settled into the seat next to her. The theater was bustling with energy around them and the lights were still up, everyone around them chatting animatedly. 

"You got the seats, I see," he observed.

She nodded helplessly, her mouth full of water. She'd opened the bottle the minute he'd handed it to her and took a large drink, trying to ease the sudden dryness in her throat.

When she could speak again, she hurried to break the uncomfortable silence. "This is really quite nice, Fitz. I'm having an excellent time."

"Are you?" he asked, his voice higher than usual. "Oh...or—you're saying what a date might say right now?"

He was right, of course, about what they were supposed to be doing, but she would be lying if she said something about him noting that didn't make her a little upset.

"Yes, she might," Jemma agreed, which was technically the truth without revealing any other unnecessary information. The lights in the theater began to dim just then, mercifully rescuing her from any further questioning.

Once the previews were over and the movie began, she found it easier to relax, losing herself in the story before them.The rather simple, straightforward love story playing out in front of her was vastly preferable to the confusion in her own mind. 

She'd meant to take some time during the movie to talk some sense back into herself, to remember that Fitz had been by her side for years and never shown the least romantic interest in her. Developing a crush on him now by misunderstanding this situation—a situation she'd put _herself_ in—would forever taint their friendship. Whenever she began to think about it, though, she shied away from it, losing herself in the movie or noticing Fitz as he occasionally shifted nervously in his seat.

She glanced at Fitz, catching more movement out of the corner of her eye. He was stretching his hand, alternately contracting it into a fist and then wiggling his fingers. She thought at first that his arm might have fallen asleep, but it soon became clear to her that he was trying to work himself up to reach out and take her hand. He kept lifting his elbow from the armrest, his hand barely crossing the threshold between their seats, but then he'd freeze and retreat again. When he pulled his arm back entirely and dropped it into his lap, she decided to make things a little easier for him.

She let her forearm rest on the now-vacated armrest, opening her palm and facing it toward the ceiling. When he stole a look at her she smiled encouragingly at him, willing him to find the courage to take her hand. A gregarious girl like Anna was probably used to men who were much more aggressive than Fitz was likely to be, and it would never occur to her to give him this sort of gentle encouragement. To make his real date a success, Fitz would need to go into the evening with Anna with some sort of blueprint and the confidence to execute it.

When he continued to hesitate, she decided to make it more obvious that holding his date's hand at this point in the evening was perfectly acceptable, especially when her body language was communicating nothing but openness to the idea. The only way she could think of to do that was to move her arm toward him, letting her hand hover over his leg, her arm still supported by the armrest.

Fitz proved able to take this hint, dropping his hand over hers at long last. Their fingers intertwined immediately and he moved a bit to rest their clasped palms between them. She was filled with warmth that he'd been able to do it, make this gesture that to anyone else would seem simple, but wasn't at all for Fitz. For someone who quite often seemed to wear his emotions openly, it was a huge step for him to take direct action...to not just want something, but to _do_ something. Even if he was pretending, this was still positive reinforcement, muscle memory to help him remember that it was okay to pursue something (or someone) he desired.

She went back to watching the movie, still feeling happy for him and enjoying the feeling of being connected to him. She should have known that Fitz wouldn't be able to stay still for long, not even with one hand. He loosened their grasp a bit, something Jemma dimly registered while following a terrible argument the main characters were having in the film. She was momentarily so wrapped up in the story that she didn't notice right away how his fingers began to restlessly wander, his movements tiny and nimble, though he took care never to let her hand go completely.

As she adjusted to the change and wondered if a real date would find this distracting, his index finger began to trace a slow, deliberate path along her palm. It meandered, flirting with the curves between her fingers and then traversing her lifeline. The motion was slow, but firm, his fingertip massaging the delicate muscles under her skin.

She'd never thought of her hand as an erogenous zone before, but this experience was already forcing her to reconsider. She remembered the feel of his hand on her back earlier and how distracting the thought of his talented hands had become. Marrying the memory of that sensation with this new one in her mind made it impossible for her to think of anything else. Her world contracted down to his index finger in her palm and its seemingly random path.

She held her breath as he paused, then began circling his finger into the slight hollow at the juncture of her palm and wrist. As casually as she could, she pressed her head back into the seat behind her and closed her eyes, relishing the way her reaction dominated her thoughts as it ran throughout her body. His touch was on such a small scale that she was a little embarrassed to be so affected, but if anything, the sensation was heightened by the contrast of the enormity of her response to those tiny, maddening circuits of his fingertip.

She worked to keep her breathing even, willing it to have a calming effect on her without much luck. When he deviated for a moment, pushing his way up and partially trailing along her ring finger before reversing and then returning to resume the circles, she had to swallow back a gasp.

It suddenly occurred to her that she perhaps should not control her reactions, as she'd promised to give him realistic feedback. Something about this felt so personal, though, and too risky to allow him to see how deeply a simple gesture like this could affect her.

He changed patterns again, this time pushing into the gap between her thumb and index finger. He moved firmly, but so slowly it made her ache for his touch as she anxiously anticipated every centimeter he would sweep across.

She risked a look at him, needing to see some reflection of what she was feeling in him. A deep pang of disappointment lodged in her stomach when she found him looking completely unaffected. A little distracted, perhaps watching the movie, but showing no outward sign of anything out of the ordinary.

Feeling foolish and admonishing herself for getting so carried away, she disengaged herself from him and pulled her hand into her lap. His head turned, his expression concerned that he'd done something wrong, and she felt terrible for giving him the wrong impression.

Leaning into him, she brought her mouth close to his ear to whisper, "I'm sorry, my arm is falling asleep," hoping he would accept the excuse. She didn't want him to think he'd done anything wrong, as he should most definitely do what he'd just done on his date with Anna. If the woman had any sense at all, she'd be melting into pure desire for him by this point in the evening.

She looked at him with regret, knowing she'd had to pull away to gain control over herself again, but missing the feeling of being closer to him than they'd normally be. She shifted her weight toward him, uncertain what she should do, then settled on leaning her head sideways against his shoulder.

It wasn't the electric, intense sensation that his exploration of her hand had been, but even this simple contact was wonderful. The slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed was reassuring, and occasionally she could feel the satisfying weight of him pressing his cheek into her hair.

She floated there for a long, pleasant moment until the movement of his arm distracted her. He was pressing his hand into the back of her seat, seeming to brace himself there to support her as she leaned into him. She regarded him for a moment, blinking up in the darkness and trying yet again to read something in his expression. It felt like treacherous, unsteady ground under her feet, but she longed to be closer to him. She hoped he'd understand if she leaned back, snuggling more closely into his shoulder, and meet her halfway.

When she plucked up enough courage to move, a wave of relief came over her as he reacted right away, pulling her closer to him and curling his arm around her lower back. She sighed into him, nudging the soft fabric of his shirt with her nose.

Feeling a bit overcome, she tried to concentrate on something else. The movie wasn't exactly a helpful distraction, as the main characters had chosen this moment to resolve their conflict, breaking down the final barriers keeping them apart. The man and woman on the screen got closer and closer, coming together achingly slowly. The male lead cupped his love interest's cheek in his hand and the woman leaned into it, making Jemma wish Fitz would do the same.

She wondered if he'd even consider taking their practice that far. He was glancing at her every so often as she tried to hide her notice of it, wondering what he was thinking. She held her breath, watching his free hand restlessly fidgeting in his lap, as though he was considering doing something with it.

Just as she was sure he was about to encircle her with both arms, bringing them even closer to each other, their seats pitched forward, shoving into their backs and breaking their connection with each other. She glared backward at a tipsy-looking man who'd apparently lost his balance and used their seats to steady himself, and tried to remind herself that it would be bad form to take out her frustration and disappointment by snapping at a hapless stranger.

"Oh! Sorry, dude," the man said, and he patted Fitz awkwardly on the shoulder.

"It's all right," Fitz returned, squaring his shoulders against the now-stable back of his seat.

Jemma noted with a pang that the jarring incident seemed to reset them back to normal. Every step Fitz had conquered, all the new ground he'd won against his anxieties about dating, had evaporated. They sat in their seats quite separately from each other, and she could think of no way to coax him into going back where they'd left off before the movie ended and the lights came up.


	5. The Way Home

She stayed close to him as he led the way out of the theater and through the crowd in the lobby. This was the busiest theater in the downtown area and there were people everywhere, many of them in varying, boisterous phases of inebriation. A pair of young men, focused more on following behind their dates than anything else, somehow managed to slice between Jemma and Fitz. The disconnection was brief and she rushed to catch up with him, nudging right next to him to keep it from happening again.

When he noticed her bump against him, he turned to regard her for a moment before seeming to make up his mind, then reached down and rather authoritatively took her hand. That brought with it memories of the gentle tracings of his finger in her palm, and she was affected enough at the thought that it became necessary to cover her reaction with a joke.

"Don't want to get separated?" she asked, gesturing with her free hand to the craziness of the crowd surrounding them.

"No," he said, the answer almost sounding casual. "Just wanted to hold your hand," he admitted, giving her a long look as they walked next to each other.

Her heart beat faster as she took in what he'd said, wondering if he could possibly be play-acting this well or if it was the bare sincerity it appeared to be.

"Fitz," she choked out, stopping when she found her legs weren't capable of cooperating for a moment. She had to know what he was thinking, but she couldn't quite find the strength to ask him directly. "You're saying all the right things. You secretly didn't require my help with this at all, did you?" she asked, willing him to give her some sort of a sign. If he was still pretending, he'd merely thank her for telling him how ready he was for a real date. If this had somehow become an actual date without either of them intending it to, his response would give him away...wouldn't it?

"On the contrary, I require it rather a lot," he said, quietly, his voice barely audible above the din surrounding them. 

They began to walk again, both of them looking forward, as Jemma fought to regain the ability for calm, even breathing. Fitz was her best friend, the one person in her life she couldn't afford to lose. She could dimly recall how her own intentions earlier that day had been innocent, merely wanting to prod him into having the confidence to live a fuller life, take more chances, and find a little more happiness. How had that...turned into this?

She stole a look at him. If he stopped right now and swept her into his arms, she knew she'd strain toward him, tilting her head in a silent plea for him to finally kiss her. She wanted those hands of his that had driven her to distraction several times already that evening to trace the freckles he'd admired on her jaw, to cup her cheek, to draw her into him and cover her mouth with his. She knew, with devastating clarity, that she didn't want to pretend and she didn't want to lose him to someone else.

And yet, that's what she'd just spent an entire evening doing, bolstering his confidence and acting as a surrogate date, an avatar existing only to prepare him for someone else. She felt ill, waves of dread at the thought of letting him go washing over her. She wasn't sure she could do it, withstand the loss when he pulled away from her again, only to watch him forge this intimacy with someone else.

When they reached their building, she realized they hadn't said a word to each other the entire walk back. She'd never wanted to know what he was thinking as much as she did right now, examining his silhouette as he moved up the staircase leading to their flat. She wanted so much for him to be happy, this man she knew she couldn't live without. In a moment of disappointed certainty, she knew the only way to protect what they were to each other was to let go of any notion of the two of them being something more.

She had to be ruthless with herself and push away from the craziness of the impulses that had tempted her earlier. She knew she was quite good at compartmentalization, and she merely needed to separate how she was feeling from the way Fitz needed her to act. She'd promised him a practice date, and no matter how bereft she would feel later, she didn't intend to let him down.

When they reached the door she forced a smile onto her face, knowing there was one more iconic moment of a first date she needed to show him.

"Well, Fitz," she began, impressed at how her voice cooperated, though she somewhat distantly registered the feeling of her heart breaking. "This is when you should kiss your date goodnight."

He was suddenly and charmingly all anxiousness, his nervous energy coming off him in waves as he stammered at her. "I can't expect you to...I mean...that seems like…"

"It's all right," she reassured him, though she wondered if any part of her believed that. "I can't leave you at loose ends now, can I?"

She could do this. She could have this one taste of him and still put it behind her, and realistically, she didn't have a lot of choice. If she backed down now, he'd know something was wrong. She steeled herself, locking her emotions away, and linked her arms around his neck.

She'd expected a quick peck at most, and that only if he didn't balk outright. Fitz was nothing if not capable of stunning, breath-stealing surprises, though, so when he cupped her cheek and ducked his head toward her, she was overcome by her genuine reaction before she could stop herself.

He backed her into the door and she molded herself to him, leaning against him heavily enough that she would fall if he backed away. He moved achingly slowly and it seemed to take forever before she felt his lips on hers, feather-soft as they brushed against her.

Very soon, gentleness wasn't enough for either of them. When his hands cupped the back of her head and his fingers threaded through her hair possessively, she opened her mouth to him with a soft moan. His tongue dipped inside, tentatively at first, but soon with such confidence that she couldn't fathom the idea that he hadn't done this before.

When she ran her tongue quickly along the hard line of his teeth she felt his hands tighten in her hair, making her clutch at his shoulders helplessly. She met him at every evolution of the kiss, moving with him, challenging his every movement with one of her own. It was the only way she knew to be with him, to strive, to be his equal, to press forward knowing he would be right there with her.

When he finally pulled away, they both hesitated for a long moment she wished would never end. She wanted to fist her hands in his shirt and close the distance between them again, but some measure of common sense had returned to her, and she recalled the promise she'd made to herself just minutes before.

"Fitz," she whispered, as she regained control of herself.

"Simmons," he answered, his pupils blown wide and his chest heaving under her hands.

She knew she'd never wanted anything as much as she wanted this, but she keenly felt the weight of everything that was at risk. Before she could weaken and give in to herself, images of the two of them at the Academy, forging their friendship into something remarkable, irreplaceable, played in her mind. It forced her to take a deep breath, and then the largest step back of her life.

"You'll be just fine on your date," she said, hoping he wouldn't notice how her voice was breaking. She made herself smile at him, dying a little when she saw the confusion on his face. Her tears were coming soon, she knew. There was nothing she could do about that, but she could make sure he didn't see them. "You should talk to her tomorrow, before you lose your nerve," she choked out, and pushed past him to open the door to their apartment before he could see how she was falling apart.

She prayed he wouldn't call after her as she sped away from him, tears flowing in tracks down her cheeks as she made her escape. She couldn't imagine what he was thinking, but it was all she could do not to audibly sob until she was safely in her room, where her pillow could muffle the sounds of her confusion and disappointment.


	6. The Next Day

The night had been long, sleep only coming to her in the form of exhaustion after many hours of miserable reflection. When she awoke, her disorientation was extreme. Her dreams had been confused jumbles of images, both real and imagined. For long moments after she'd first opened her eyes, she hadn't been entirely certain where she was. 

She'd never bothered to get into her bed, but curled up on top of it once she'd pulled herself together enough to slip out of her dress. The dress itself was still lying next to her in a heap and she wondered if she'd ever be able to wear it again. Certainly she'd always remember the weight of his hand on her back if she ever slipped that soft suede over herself again, though she couldn't imagine she'd forget with or without the dress.

Forcing herself to stand up, she took her robe from its hook inside her closet and pulled it around herself, belting it tightly. She needed to find Fitz and face him as soon as possible. The longer she left it, the greater the chance things would become awkward between the two of them. If she strode into the kitchen, chiding him for his unhealthy breakfast choices as though nothing was different, perhaps she could get through this and force things back to normal.

She padded toward the kitchen, passing Fitz's open bedroom door on the way. She peeked inside, seeing his customary mess, but no Fitz. There was no sign of him in the living room either, though his screen saver was cycling through photos, indicating he'd been using his computer recently. She stopped to look at the pictures, smiling at memories of their younger selves whenever one image changed into the next.

Poking her head inside the kitchen, she was confused not to find him there either, though there were fresh dishes in the sink. On a sudden hunch, she moved to the table in their entryway, checking the hooks where their keys and Sci-Ops lanyards normally hung. Fitz's was missing, solving the mystery, at least, of where he'd gone.

She checked the watch she'd left on from the night before, frowning at how early he'd gone in, especially considering it was a Saturday morning. She leaned heavily against the doorframe, wondering how badly he'd wanted to get away from her to hide himself at work so soon.

Another idea occurred to her, making her feel even worse as it formed in her mind. Anna always seemed to be in the lab on weekends, especially if she thought Fitz might be there. Perhaps the practice date the night before had done its job, buoying his confidence so successfully that he'd rushed in to ask Anna on a date right away.

If he had, though, isn't that what she'd wanted for him? Shouldn't she do what they always did, and support him, making sure she would be there for him to either celebrate or commiserate with him? She'd given herself one night to cry, to feel the sadness of knowing for certain that she and Fitz would never be more than they were right now. The sun had risen, however, and it was time for her to go into the future, clear-eyed and satisfied that this was the best way to protect their friendship.

Feeling more resolved, Jemma decided to get into the shower and let the water wake her up, then follow him into work and make sure they were okay. Without having the opportunity to talk to him, she had no idea where they stood with each other. Heading to Sci-Ops to find him was necessary to ensure their friendship was still sound, which was the most important thing she could imagine doing.

* * *

Jemma headed straight to her own lab instead of Fitz's when she arrived, feeling a bit absurd about being there at all and wanting to legitimize her presence somehow. She hadn't prepared to spend any time there over the weekend, however, and found herself listlessly wandering around, half-heartedly checking on some of the samples she'd left to grow before she'd gone home the previous afternoon.

Once she'd exhausted everything she could think of to do in her lab, she walked, her pace artificially slow and casual, to the lab where Fitz worked. She looked through the glass when she came around the corner, seeing Anna there, but not Fitz. She frowned, wondering if she'd drawn the wrong conclusion at home when she'd seen his lanyard missing.

"Good morning, Anna," Jemma called as she entered the lab, giving her the widest, most friendly smile possible. Jemma wanted to be very careful not to inflict any of her feelings of disappointment on the other woman. It certainly wasn't Anna's fault that Fitz preferred her to Jemma romantically, or that Jemma had to consider Fitz off-limits entirely.

"Good morning, Dr. Simmons," Anna replied, her voice unrealistically sunny and friendly in a way that made Jemma irrationally cross. "What brings you to Engineering so early on a Saturday morning?" she continued, archly, as though she found Jemma's mere presence utterly irksome.

"Oh, please call me Jemma," she insisted, deliberately ignoring the undercurrent of annoyance in Anna's half of the conversation. The only thing Jemma could think of to handle the situation was to attempt to kill Anna with kindness, though she didn't feel the strategy had a high probability of success. "I missed Fitz this morning at the apartment," she elaborated, watching with odd fascination as Anna flinched when Jemma referenced the flat she shared with Fitz. Awkwardly, Jemma cast around for some way to make things feel less adversarial, deciding to try a little joke. "I imagine he had a project here he wanted to come in to work on, though I was surprised there was anything so important here that it was worth giving up sleeping in on a Saturday morning." 

"There's plenty going on here that's important," Anna said, imperiously, and Jemma blinked at her in mild shock. She knew she was often out of sync with people in conversation, but this was going uncommonly poorly.

"I'm sorry," she said, the apology rushing out of her as she looked for some way to extract herself from the conversation. "I'm sure that's true, and I certainly didn't mean to suggest otherwise. If you could possibly relay to Dr. Fitz that I wanted to speak to him when he had a moment, I'd be quite appreciative." 

"I'll let him know when I see him," Anna called after her, but Jemma was already halfway toward the door and retreating quickly.

Back in her lab a few minutes later, she felt even more aimless there than she had earlier. If she couldn't find Fitz, she should surely just leave and wait for him at home. He couldn't avoid the flat forever, though the more time that passed, the more anxious Jemma felt. Perhaps she'd check one more place for him before giving up, and look in on the staff lounge nearest his lab. It was a bit early for lunch, but that had never stopped Fitz before.

She gasped with relief when she saw him there, then paradoxically, wanted to hide before he saw her. He looked quite upset, though, leaning on the water cooler with his head down, absent-mindedly filling a cup.

"Fitz! I've been looking everywhere for you. Why did you leave so early this morning?" she asked, wincing when she realized her nervousness had prompted her to drill him with questions before she could decide the best way to start.

He turned to her slowly, the look on his face blank and a little lost. She tried to act like it was a normal day and nothing out of the ordinary had happened with them, hoping it would make him feel more comfortable talking to her. She knew she'd disappeared on him quickly after their kiss the night before, and he was probably concerned about how she would react to him.

When all he could manage was an unintelligible mumble, she decided to double down on acting normal. She'd go back to what they were speaking about the last time things seemed normal between them, which was probably when they'd been in the kitchen and she'd asked him about Anna.

"I suppose it doesn't hurt that you knew Anna might be here," she said, watching him closely to gauge his reaction.

"Yeah, I think I've just killed any chance I had there," he said, looking utterly defeated, and her heart sank for him.

"I'm sure it's not as bad as all that," she told him, her natural reflex to comfort him and coax him toward optimism kicking in before she could stop herself. She moved toward him, wanting more than anything else to pull him out of this demoralized mood. "These things always seem worse from your own perspective." She set her hand tentatively on his shoulder, holding her breath when followed the movement with his eyes, tilting his head as though he was trying to make sense of it.

"Suppose you could be right," he groused, but he didn't sound like he believed her.

"I'll walk you back to your lab," she said, pushing him lightly on the back to encourage him to begin moving. She could deliver him back to Anna, where he could arrange the date that would put her out of her misery for good. She couldn't take the uncertainty any longer, and the only solid resolution she could imagine getting would be him, happily venturing into the world of dating.

"No," he said, shaking his head and pulling away from her a little. "I think I'll just wrap a few things up and head out. I need to...I don't know...take a walk or something."

She wasn't sure what to say to him, so she privately chastised herself instead. What had she been thinking, suggesting that idiotic practice date? It hadn't given him the confidence he needed to begin dating the woman he was actually interested in, and it had made her confused and miserable. She had single-handedly ruined years of a wonderful friendship, and she wasn't sure how to fix it.

"Fitz?" she ventured. "Are you quite all right? I mean...are… _we_ quite all right?" She was terrified of the answer, but she couldn't stop herself from asking him any longer.

"We'll always be all right. I'll make sure of that, Simmons." His quiet voice, whispering those words to her so sincerely...it was the first time she hadn't felt anxious all day.

They rounded a corner in the hallway and Anna's voice carried toward them, speaking loudly in that way most people affected when they were talking on a mobile. "The whole thing is ridiculous, Marjorie."

Jemma gasped as Fitz took her arm, his grip so hard it was almost painful, and pulled them into one of the darkened alcoves that dotted the corridor.

"Sorry," he apologized, releasing her arm and backing away quickly. "I didn't want her to think we were eavesdropping."

"You decided to pull us in here, then...so we _could_?" She blinked at him incredulously. If he'd actually _wanted_ to listen in, he'd chosen the perfect way to do it. Perhaps he thought he might learn something from her phone conversation about whether she was interested in him?

"No, of course not," he said, looking embarrassed. "I just didn't think it through."

"It's not going to work out with Dr. Hottie," Anna's voice rang out again, echoing in the empty corridor. "I just gave him the most obvious opening to ask me out and he shut it down. Pretty clear he isn't interested."

Jemma's eyes flew to Fitz, and she held her breath as she tried to read his reaction. 

"Yeah, you and I both know why, right?" Anna continued. "I can't compete with years of him pining away for her, even if she doesn't seem to care."

Anna continued talking, but Jemma wasn't listening anymore. Anna had decided Fitz was interested in someone else, probably referring to Jemma. Anna wouldn't be the first person to assume that, but for the first time, Jemma took a sense of hope from it instead of following her usual, immediate reaction to deny it.

Fitz was plastered against the back wall, his head thrown back in defeat, and her heart sank for him. He must have been very interested in Anna if he was this hurt by her inadvertent dismissal of him.

"Fitz, I'm really sorry," she told him, her mind already spinning, looking for some way to make him feel better.

"Don't be," he said, his body language changing at bit. His shoulders squared and he looked directly at her, his eyes intense in the darkness.

"I know she's misunderstood, Fitz, don't worry," she reassured him. She knew Anna didn't like her very much, but perhaps if Jemma went to her and explained their unique friendship, Anna would give Fitz another chance. "She's just like the boyfriends I had at the Academy, always jealous of you and not understanding that we're just friends."

"She's misunderstood nothing," he said, his voice quite serious as he pushed away from the wall and closed the distance between them. "She's got me dead to rights."

She stared back at him, unable to look away, really, and felt her breaths coming in deep, hopeful gasps. She hadn't realized how much she wanted this, wanted to take back the decision she'd made the previous night, until he began to offer it to her.

"You don't have to worry about me, though," he continued, his gaze falling to the floor. "I can never mention it again and everything can stay as it is, all right? I'd never want to lose—"

"What are you saying?" she demanded, needing confirmation for him before she could begin to dream that she was interpreting him correctly.

"I shouldn't have said anything," he said, withdrawing from her a little and lodging her heart in her throat.

"Yes! Yes, you should," she told him, willing him to understand her meaning and help them take the leap that would change their friendship into something more, hopefully something they could have together for the rest of their lives.

"You're the one I want, Simmons," he began, and she took a deep, relieved breath, mesmerized by the determined glimmer in his eyes. "The reason I'm not rubbish at flirting with you is because you're the one I want to say those things to. I want to hear your breath catch when I tell you something I like about you, something no one else has never noticed. I want to hold your hand when we walk down the street, and not because I think we're going to get lost in the crowd. I want to kiss you up against the door to our flat, and not to practice my technique for someone else. It's your eyes I want to look into when we pull away from each other, no one else's."

She tried to say something, but she wanted to say everything, all at once. _I'm yours. I love you. I want everything you want and more. I can't imagine why I didn't see it before._

"Shite," he said, pulling away from her, making her realize he had no way of knowing she felt the same way until she found a way to tell him. "Shite, Simmons. I'm sorry. I never meant to ruin—"

"I didn't see it until last night," she blurted out, starting with the most remarkable thing she'd discovered that day. She didn't understand how all of this could have been inside her, everything she felt for Fitz that she could finally put a label to, without recognizing it sooner. "I feel a little silly. It's clearly been there for a long time, I just didn't let myself think about it."

"Me too," he said, nodding uncontrollably, an adorable look of pure joy on his face. "The exact same thing."

"Too much to lose," they said, both of them speaking together, their lips almost touching as she came up on her toes to get closer to him.

"What do we do if it doesn't work out?" he asked, and she knew one of them had to voice it, this huge fear that had fueled their shared denial.

"We'd do what we do with everything else, Fitz," she whispered against his lips. "We'd fix it." It was her vow to both of them, that she'd never let anything tear them apart, not after they'd finally found the courage to admit how they really felt.

With her promise hanging in the air between them, he captured her mouth with his. There was no second-guessing this time, no confusion, and no fear. She could feel herself opening to him, wanting more than ever to share every detail of her life with this man who held her in his arms.

When he finally pulled back, their hair mussed and lips swollen, she pulled him out of the darkness with her, their hands joined.

"Let's go home, Fitz," she said, breaking away from him to get a head start, wanting to challenge him and give him something to chase. She didn't need to look back to know he was following.


End file.
